The sun was almost directly overhead, leaving no shadows in the dusty Arizona landscape. “Make ready!” boomed the harsh voice of the kind-looking rangemaster with the white mustache, khakis, and stainless steel 1911 underneath his black baseball hat.Round chambered, check. Half-empty magazine removed, replaced with its sibling, topped off with 17 rounds. I returned to low ready. “Up! Look! Press!” . . .